You're Gonna Owe Me for This, Berry
by purrpickle
Summary: To think it all started because Rachel couldn't sleep. Pezberry.


**A/N:** I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Just pretend there's a suitable reason why they're in Las Vegas. Thanks! XD Also, I'm not going to apologize anymore for posting new stories. :}

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><p>Rachel wasn't used to the sound of so many people breathing in one room. She rarely ever had sleepovers (the last one being the summer before high school), and certainly never with six other girls (okay, yes, last year's Nationals, but she'd been so exhausted from the frantic songwriting that she'd pretty much nodded off as soon as her head hit the pillow). So she now found herself staring up at the ceiling, trying her hardest to ignore the slightly congested breaths Tina was releasing next to her.<p>

Trying to decide if she should wake the girl up to hopefully make her stop – Rachel did need a solid eight hours of sleep for her vocal chords to be in the best shape they could be, so Tina could, theoretically, be endangering Rachel's livelihood – she finally gave it up in fear that Tina's sleep apnea would be worse when she went back to sleep. Letting air out of her mouth, Rachel bit back a groan and rolled onto her side, her back to Tina.

Five minutes later, she returned to her back, then tried her other side. That feeling too embarrassingly like she was going to spoon Tina, she again tried her back.

After the fifth circuit, a husky, disgruntled voice startled her from the bed next to hers, "Berry, for the love of God, pick a position and _stick _with it."

Rachel froze. "…Santana?" she hazarded a guess, whispering into the dark.

"Yes." Apparently too tired to respond with a snark of some kind, Santana yawned. "You're keeping me up."

Pausing guiltily to see if anyone else would speak up to add their two cents, Rachel gave a mental sigh of relief when no one did. "I apologize," she yawned herself, "But it's too… _Loud _in here."

"Loud?"

"Yes. Loud. I'm… Not used to so many people being in one room. Breathing." Rachel's voice got small.

"You're always going on about packed audiences, smurf," Santana grunted, rolling over in Rachel's direction, as she could hear the sound of her sliding under the covers, "You can't be tryin' to convince me we's being too _loud_."

In answer, Rachel rolled over onto her side to face Santana as well. Squinting in the darkness, she could barely make out the dark mass of her hair and lighter blob that was her shoulder. "Those people aren't _asleep_, Santana. And while I hope I never have the experience of putting on a performance so boring that someone _does _fall asleep on me, no." She paused, sighing. When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to see Santana's glowing back at her. "In my whole-hearted pursuit of stardom – "

A lighter shade of dark moved away from Santana, sending air in her direction. Startled, Rachel blinked and jerked back before realizing it was only Santana waving her arm. "No. Stop. Not answering my question." Dropping her arm, Santana groaned. "Seriously, get to the point. Or _I'll _fall asleep on you. And not as gay as that sounds."

Rachel smiled shyly. "I know, Santana. Anyway, I've never had a sleepover so big. I've, well, barely had _any_ sleepovers, really."

"What?" Santana's voice sounded unwillingly interested, "But you're always obnoxiously jabbering on about the vocal camps you've gone to. Those…" Yawn. "…Sleepover camps?"

"No, actually. Well, yes, but no, still no. My dads always paid for private rooms." Rachel frowned, pulling her side of the covers up to her chin.

"Jesus. No wonder." Muttering under her breath, Santana shifted again. Waiting for her to continue, Rachel stared into the space above Santana's body, unintentionally holding her breath. Finally, right as Rachel was beginning to think she had fallen asleep, Santana grumbled and sat up. "Alright. Crap. You're gonna owe me for this, Berry."

"What?" Gaping at the dark form that was Santana sliding herself out of her bed, Rachel sat up as well, keeping the covers loose so they didn't pull against Tina or Mercedes on the other side of her and wake them up.

Pulling her own covers back up, over Brittany, who mumbled and rolled into the space she'd vacated, Santana stepped away. Turning her attention back to Rachel, she put her hand on her hip. "Just shut up and follow me. And don't fricken' wake anyone up or you're on your own."

"I don't understand."

Santana loomed over her. "Berry," she leant down, eyes glinting directly into Rachel's as she lowered her voice into an exasperated rasp, "You're gonna have to get used to not understanding. Now _gets _your ass out of that bed."

Staring at her incredulously, Rachel eventually blinked and turned her head to glance around the rest of the room. "Well…" she sighed, pushing herself off the bed and making Santana move back, "I _suppose _we should at least move to another location before we wake anyone else up." Shivering as cool air wrapped around her, she fluffed out the top of her pink pajama set, pushing her hair out of her face. "I am trusting that there is a good reason for this…" Santana moved over towards the door of the hotel room, Rachel slowly following her; pausing at the foot of her bed, she furrowed her brow, "Hey, what are you doing? We can't _leave the room_!"

"Then where would we go?" Santana turned around, leaning in close to be able to keep her voice low, "I'm sure as hell not getting into the _bathroom_ with you." Snagging her jacket she'd left on top of her suitcase earlier, shrugging it on over her leopard camisole and Capri-length sweats, and slipping into her discarded boots, the girl grabbed the extra key from the dresser. Putting her hand on the doorknob, she looked at Rachel standing awkwardly near the TV. "Well? You have five seconds before I leave without you. Why don't you get out of your shire and _live_ a little?"

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><p>"I feel like I'm in the middle of a dramatic movie," Rachel whispered excitedly, looking around with wide eyes, "I mean, I actually sneaked out! Me! In Las Vegas! I… I'm a <em>rebel<em>!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Oh. My. God, Berry. Can you be any _more _annoying? We're still in the hotel. This is nowhere _near _sneaking out or whatever it is that you're yapping about."

"Well it's sneaking out for me," Rachel retorted, lifting her chin, "Remember, I'm not as… Experienced as you."

"Damn right." Smirking, Santana ruined the gesture by reaching up a hand to smother a yawn. "Great," she grimaced for a second, "Let's be going." Lengthening her stride, she made for the elevators at the end of the hallway.

Speeding up to keep with her, Rachel slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket, more secure in the fact that it was big enough to almost completely hide the fact that she was wandering around in her _pajamas_. "And Mr. Schuester won't catch us? I don't want to get into enough trouble that he'll pull me from the competition tomorrow and give my solo to someone else, ultimately making us lose in a fiery ball of failure," she looked at Santana expectantly, habitually reaching forward to push the up button on the opposite panel.

"You know, I _just_ pushed that. And he won't if you don't call him or catch his attention by singing too loud or something else plausibly idiotic that you would do." Santana idly studied herself in the mirrored reflection of the elevator doors before sending her a lazy glare. "And don't forget we won last year because of _me_, not you; hell, I'd probably automatically gain more points just for the sheer fact that I am _impossibly _hot, _much _hotter than you."

Rachel frowned at Santana, shifting uncomfortably.

"But no," Santana sighed dismissively, going back to her reflection, "Mr. Shue's probably reliving his 'Boozie von Drunk-a-ton' days, feeling up some male stripper that reminds him of his dear 'Miss Pillsbury'." Snorting, she shook her head, "It's been _years_ and he's still being a pussy. God, they need to _fuck_ already and get it _over _with. It's _exhausting _watching their pathetic puppy dog eyes."

The elevator dinged, and she walked forward. Pushing a button Rachel couldn't see from where she was standing, Santana tilted her head. "Am I going to have to continually convince you we's be fine? Because I am _not _going to drag your ass all the way like a fricken' life coach."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel walked forward, joining her. Stopping at her side, she turned to face the now closing doors. "Why are you being so _willing _to include me in whatever you're doing?" she asked honestly, noting that the floor Santana had pushed was the ground floor. They weren't going to _actually _leave the hotel, were they?

Santana smirked toothily. "Because I knew you wouldn't go anywhere without your wallet and I wants to get my eats on."

Rachel sighed, crossing her arms. "Of course," she muttered.

"Oh, you can't tell me you don't have your wallet. That would be _irresponsible_."

Rachel stared at the elevator doors. Then, "…I have it," she admitted grudgingly.

Santana just craned her head in a self satisfied gloat, dark eyes smug.

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><p>The door opening into a very bright, very busy mini-mall, Rachel stepped out a second after Santana and the tourist couple from the floor three below theirs did. "This is more like it," Santana smiled widely, taking in the bustle of motion.<p>

Rachel walked up behind her. "And you're not concerned in any way that people will notice we're wearing our night dress?" she asked, eyes continually moving, cataloging everything for herself.

"Come _off_ it, Downer Debbie. _Please_. We're already better dressed than half the people here. And that's _saying _something when you take in the fact that I've included _you_. No. This is a hotel in Las Vegas, not an opera house in Paris." Glancing down at Rachel, Santana quirked her eyebrow and head, "Tell me. What's the first thing you think of when you think of Las Vegas?"

"Gambling?"

Santana shook her head, looking insulted. "The _other _thing, the thing I would have thought would have been at the _forefront _of your brain."

Rachel blinked. "Music shows?" she asked uncertainly, "Santana, we don't have enough time to catch one, and it would be irresponsible if were to wait around for one to start, no – no matter if we had the _money _– "

"_Shh_." Holding up one finger, Santana cut her off. "No. To do that, we'd have to do some epic sneaking around, and, unfortunately, you'd only be dead weight. No, the _other _other thing." She stared at Rachel expectantly.

Furrowing her brow, Rachel tried again. "…Magic shows?"

"Oh _my_ – Just follow me." Looking up, Santana mouthed a couple of choice words then spun on her foot, throwing a glare back at Rachel over her shoulder.

Left to gawk at the other girl's back, Rachel had to duck and weave her way through the crowd that would have quickly separated the two of them. Trying to memorize the placement of the elevators in case she and Santana got lost in the sea of people, she tightened her hold on her wallet and phone situated in her pockets, finally catching up with Santana. "Speaking of irresponsible…" she accused, staring straight ahead.

Santana snorted. "Like I could lose your beak." Her head weaved back and forth as she seemed to be searching for something. "I would have thought for sure it would have been on this floor…" she muttered, frowning.

Build-a-Bear. Lady's Foot Locker. The Candy Barrel. As they walked, Rachel took in the various stores. When signs for the food court started to appear, she glanced at Santana out of the corner of her eye to see if the girl had taken notice. Sure, she was being all mysterious, but hadn't she first talked about eating?

However, Santana made no move to follow the signs. "God, don't tell me I've been walking for no _reason_," Santana huffed, then abruptly stopped in the middle of the hall. "Berry. Phone."

Stumbling from getting walked into, Rachel was about to tell off the culprit when she took in what he looked like, and she quickly made for the kitschy tourist store nearest them. "That guy smelled like old sweat and alcohol," she gagged, "And he looked even worse!"

"Addicted gambler," Santana responded uninterestedly. "Phone?"

Rachel shoved her hair back from her face, then crossed her arms. She looked at Santana suspiciously. "Why do you want it?"

"Because, even though I'm supporting two squalling kids at home and a deadbeat boyfriend who sits on the couch all day drinking beer and eating up my food, I have a horrible gambling problem, and I want to trade it in for cash." Santana rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and meeting Rachel's squarely, "You have a map of the hotel in it, don't you? I saw you tagging it earlier."

Why would Santana have noticed that? Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Rachel handed it over with a sigh. "So far," she grumbled, "This sneaking out thing hasn't been worth it."

Santana's lip curled up. "Shut it. Ahah! That way." Indicating off to the right, she pushed a couple more buttons and then shoved Rachel's phone back at her.

"And you're not even – sigh. Never mind." Slipping her phone into her pocket, Rachel quickly took off after Santana _yet_ again.


End file.
